Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's world. I just write about it. (So, if you're a reader of one of my other stories you're probably throwing rocks at your computer screen right now and shouting at it. But, I hit a little bit of writer's block. and when I hit writer's block on my posted stories I sometimes go back to my unposted ones and try to work it out of my system there. So that's what I did and while I was working on this I just got the overwhelming urge to post the first chapter up! And I'm in that "Life is short" mood this week so I've been following impulses and not sweatign this small stuff (like losing my class ring in a lake =[ ) I even found a few banners at TDA that would be perfect so I should have one of them up in a few days or so.
Anyway, I'm out of writer's block I think so I'm back to working on new chapters for Return of Egraina Emerson, Coming Back a Swan, The Complicated Life of Mirabelle Rose and Fire and Ice.
For now I hope you enjoy this story, I've seen one or two on here about Seers but not many an dI just thought I'd take a whack at it. READ AND REVIEW! =P<3 RED)

Chapter 1 ~ The Seer

I, Avaira Riley, am a Seer.

I'm one of those rare individuals that are privy to occasional glances into the future. I see snippets of what will happen and am left to do what I will with that information. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Because I can't control my visions nor do I always understand them when they come to me. But they definitely come and then come true, exactly as I see them.

Ironically enough, I was horrid at Divination (as my visions don't come on command like Professor Trelawney seemed to think they should). I stared into that crystal ball for hours seeing nothing but fog and tea leaves remained brown lumps to me. No hidden messages or omens came about in all my time wasted in that tower. And, unfortunately, I only ever had one vision during those all classes. But I certainly wasn't about to share with the class when and where I'd be losing my virginity (or who I'd be losing it to).

Occasionally- like that one mortifying Divination class- the visions are about me. And sometimes they're even about life-changing things, though those aren't always very pleasant. Actually, they are almost never pleasant, now that I think about it.

When I was two, I saw that my mum was pregnant with my little sister, Marta. I got so upset- thinking I was going to be replaced- that I threw a huge tantrum and made the entire house shake (by magic, of course). My mother had no idea and when I told her, in my tearful baby drawl that I didn't want her to have another baby girl, she laughed and assured me she wasn't having another one. Seven months later, Marta Louise Riley was born and monopolizing all the attention that had once belonged to me.

At four, I predicted my beloved Aunt Genevive's death. I told my mother that Auntie Gen wasn't coming home from her vacation in South America- her plane was going 'swimming' in the ocean. I didn't understand, but my mother did. And having, on numerous occasions, seen my fretted predictions come true (and being the clever woman she is she figured out, sort of, what I was), she warned Gen but it happened anyway. She, thinking her sister was just being her frazzled, worry wart self, boarded the flight. The plane had a malfunction and crashed into the Atlantic.

By the time I was six, I knew exactly where my first real kiss would take place. Eight years later, I locked lips with Thomas Fletcher. It was awkward and messy but, thankfully the snog session didn't last long before my older brother walked in and nearly had a coniption (I- unfortunately- hadn't foreseen that part).

On my eighth birthday, I vaguely saw the lives of my three future children flash before my eyes. I knew I was having a boy first and then two lovely little girls- one with billowing raven curls and the other with cascading red locks. They would be beloved by everyone they met (save a few- but they wouldn't be respectable enough to count) and charm their teachers with top marks and right answers to all the questions. The boy would be mischievious and very athletic. The oldest girl would be very intelligent and girly. And the youngest would be strong-willed, fiesty and slightly tomboyish. I knew what house they'd be in at Hogwarts (though, at the time I didn't have a clue what Hogwarts was), who they'd marry and what their occupations would be (though, again, I had no clue what the hell being a Quidditch Player, the Head of the Department of Magical Law or an Auror entailed exactly). I even knew how many grandchildren they would give me (eleven, in case you were wondering).

And a year before I went to Hogwarts, I knew who I was going to fall madly in love with and one day, eventually, marry.

At the time, the name James Sirius Potter II meant nothing to me.

All I knew that I'd fall hopelessly in love with him when I was seventeen, marry him three years later and have the trio of charming children I'd 'known' since I was eight.

It wasn't until a year later- after I found out I was a witch and that I'd been accepted to the best magical school in the world, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- that I met my future husband...

"Mummy, hurry up! The train leaves at eleven!" I called frustratedly.

My mother was seeing me off to Hogwarts today while my father carted my brother, Will and my sister, Marta to football and ballet practices. But, contrary to our plan, she seemed to be having a hard time leaving dad to do the jobs she normally did. She was fawning over my sister's new ballet slippers when I yelled in annoyance. What could possibly be so amusing about slippers?

"Alright, sweetheart. I'm coming," she assured me.

I scoffed and began to drag my trunk out to the car. As I tried to heave it into the trunk of our car, my dad came to help.

"Is she coming yet?" I growled, concentrating on my task.

"Yes," he laughed, "she just went upstairs to get her keys."

"Urrrgha," I groaned. If she didn't hurry up, I was going to miss the train.

Last night, I'd been so nervous I almost had told my parents to forget the whole thing. I almost made them sign me back up for the football team I'd been on and re-register me at Rothford High, where Will went.

But this morning, I woke up knowing exactly what house I was going to be sorted into (Gryffindor- the brave one) and the names and personalities of my three future best friends. Now, I was anxious to get there, meet them and become like sisters- as I'd seen in my vision. And my family was just not moving fast enough.

"Listen, Vair," dad said. "I want you to know that I'm proud of you. You're an extroidinary girl. So, just be yourself and everyone will love you, yeah?"

I flashed my dad a grin.

He was worried, it was written all over his face. He didn't like sending his baby off to a magical school. He didn't like the idea of not seeing or hearing from me for months on end (the reason he'd insisted I get an owl who I'd promptly named Agrippa).

"Don't worry, daddy. I'll be fine, promise."

Before he could say anything, my mother was ready and he hoisted my trunk into the car. He kissed me goodbye and waved as we drove away.

When we got to the station, my mother and I got a trolley, put my trunk and owl cage on it and wheeled towards platforms nine and ten. The man- Professor Longbottom- had told me that I had to run at the wall and then I'd be on Platform nine and three quarters. My mother- being a Muggle (non-magic person) would not be able to get through so I would have to say goodbye to her before hand.

With bone-crushing hugs, tearful kisses and several reminders in between, my mother wished me luck. Finally, she let me go- because it was almost eleven- and I ran straight through a brick wall onto the noisy platform.

I sighed in relief. I hadn't been sure if it would really work or not.

I opened my eyes to see the hussel and bussel of Platform nine and three quarters. It was packed with people, trunks and animals. Little ones whined about not being old enough to go with siblings, mothers fawn over each child and teenagers tackled their friends in excitement. Cats were slinking through legs and toads tried to slip away unnoticed by their masters, while owls flapped their wings- hooting indignantly.

A large scarlett train shrieked a last warning as I boarded with my belongings and people both inside and out scrambled to the windows to say goodbyes. I found an empty compartment- knowing that my friends would be meeting me any moment- and watched out the window as it took off.

Once it began racing through the countryside, I was itching with impatience. When would I get to meet my friends? I tried not to stare too expectantly at the door as I waited, even pulling out a book to try and distract me. But it didn't work very well.

At last, the compartment door slid open. I looked up and saw three very familiar girls and, unexpectedly, three unfamiliar boys.

"Mind if we join you?" Alice Longbottom, my future best mate asked.

"Not at all," I answered eagerly.

"I'm Alice." She told me unnessescarily. "And that's Layla Wood," I grinned at the girl I'd seen in laughing in my dream. "Leo Jordan, Dominique Weasley," the breathtaking blonde who would have every boy's heart by the time we reached puberty smiled at me. I was so excited it was almost difficult to pay attention to Alice's introduction, "and her cousins, Fred Weasley and James Potter."

The name took a moment to process. It flittered around my ears like an annoying fly buzzing like mad. Then finally, it flew in and processed. I gaped at the boy acrossed from me with the spiked black hair and warm brown eyes. My future husband gave me a friendly smile and I could see where our future kids were going to get it from. I saw my daughters' long eyelashes and high-cheekbones and my sons wickedly crooked grin and notoriously messy hair. It was beyond strange. Wrong on so many levels. Down right bizzare.

My new friends noticed my gaping and chuckled.

I looked at them, confused.

And the boy called Fred answered my look with a grin. "He gets that alot."

.... I hadn't even known he was famous.

The little prince of the wizarding world, first son of the highly revered hero, Harry Potter. James, Son-Of-The-Boy-Who-Saved-The-World-At-Seventeen. All I saw was the boy I was supposedly going to fall in love with in six years and happily marry. I had no idea of the significance of my future surname or what it meant for my future spouse.

But I soon found out.

Everyone fell all over themselves to be near him. To talk to him or become his friend. He was the darling of Hogwarts. He already knew half the teachers by their first names and seemed to have a blueprint of the castle in his pocket because (unlike the rest of us) he never got lost. Ever.

I also found out fairly quickly (when he laughed at me for tripping on the third day of school and stepped on my books without bothering to help me at all) that I did NOT love James Potter. I didn't even like the git.

In all honesty, he was my worst nightmare realized. Spoiled, arrogant, self-centered and more irritating than I would've believed humanly possible.

So, in regards to my future bridegroom (ugh) I worked to become indifferent. I didn't go around yelling at him and hexing him like I wanted to but, instead, I pretended he wasn't there for the most part. I tried not to talk to him if I could possibly help it and, of course, kept my solid, unwavering vision of the future to myself.

Whatever chemical imbalance I was going to suffer when I was seventeen would be best not voiced ahead of time, in case someone sent me to St. Mungo's. And I was pretty sure they would, because I'd sound like a complete nutter rambling on about the future and how I was going to one day become Mrs. Prathead Potter. (On second thought, I'd probably just sound like one of those annoying twits who follow him around like a hord of lovesick puppies all of the time. Ew.)

That, and I was best friends with his cousin.

I'm pretty sure that if Dominique ever found out she'd be ecstatic, which is why I'd never tell her. She has a bit of a problem with keeping her mouth shut when she's excited about something. And just my luck she'd slip to Fred, who'd immediately tell Potter (as they're not only cousins but best mates as well) or worse, she'd blurt it out to James Potter himself. I don't even want to think about the ramifications of that one.

Also, if I began to advertise that I had visions of the future, no doubt the student body of Hogwarts would fly into a frenzy. They'd start asking me insipid questions and demand I tell them what their life was going to be like and if fate would be a friend or foe. Which, in most cases, they knew just as much as I did.

So, long ago, I decided that my rare ability (call it a gift or a curse, both are true) should stay a well-guarded secret. That way I could at least have a chance of being a normal teenage witch.

The only person I've ever told flat-out that I could see the future was the person I trusted most to keep my deepest darkest secret. My very best mate and surrogate sister, Alice Augusta Longbottom II.

And that's only because she guessed it.

When I asked her how she simply replied with, "Well you never seem surprised by anything."
Of course, she had about a million questions once her suspision was confirmed. One of which (after several days of knowing that I knew the future) was if I knew who I was going to fall in love with.

I was so shocked that think I asked her if she was psychic too...

She laughed, rolled her eyes and said, "No. I'm just observant, Vaira." I stood there and blinked at her, astonished. Until of course she added, "So, are you going to tell James he's your future husband?"

Yeah. Scary, I know.

Half the time I concentrated on ignoring him at all costs and yet my best friend somehow managed to form the connection in that sharp mind of hers. This leaves me wondering why the hell she's in Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw?

"No," I answered sternly after my shock wore off a bit.

"Why not?" she pouted.

"Because I'm not a bloody idiot, that's why not! And how did you even figure that out anyway?"

She smirked, "I'm not a bloody idiot either." I shot her a disparaging look and she sighed and began ticking reasons off on her long, polished fingers. "Well, you constantly ignore him - 'cept for when you play Quidditch together and even then you don't fly near him if you can possibly help it. You tense up everytime he comes within a arm's reach of you. You hardly meet his eyes. And, yesterday, when he started to say that What's-Her-Face, his latest plaything-"

"Savanna Bishop," I murmured quietly.

"Yeah, her." She grinned as if I'd just helped her prove her point even more by knowing the latest slags name.

Everyone knew who the idiot was dating, it was as if Hogwarts could talk of nothing else.

"When he started to say she might be the one you made this really unattractive noise between a snort, laugh and scoff."

I rolled my eyes, "I still don't see how you concluded he was going to be my future husband from that."

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"That's not the point."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't. Regardless of whether or not I'm going to hit my head on something hard and fall in love with Ja-"

"Oh, hiya James!" She said brightly, looking over my shoulder with a cheerful smile.

My heart stopped and I whipped around to see that no one was there. Turning on her, I glowered, "Not funny."

She smirked, "I thought it rather was." ...

Ever since then she's taken every opportunity to throw us together (not that she'd had many, but still) and every girl he dates becomes an instant enemy of Alice Longbottom, which is not something you want, believe me. I personally think it's a tad unfair for her to expect everyone to be as observant as herself and figure out my secret. But appearantly, she thinks it's rather obvious and looks at every girl who James Potter dates as a homewrecker.

She never understands why I don't hate them even more than she does- or at all for that matter. But I don't. I'd be more than happy to give up my claim if it weren't for the fact that not one of my visions has failed to come true yet (I have my fingers crossed though- hey, there's a first time for everything, right?).

In fact, because of her open hostility towards every one of James's ridiculous flings, Dominique is secretly convinced that Alice fancies the pants off of her cousin. (Yeah, I nearly laughed myself into a coma when she told me that one.)

But, this year, she's going to be so much worse because- one of the many times she was nagging me over it- I slipped and mentioned it wasn't supposed to happen until seventh year.

And she's been waiting, quite impatiently, for it to arrive ever since.

But her wait is finally over. Anytime between today- when we get to King's Cross station- and the day we graduate, could be the day.

It was finally seventh year, the year I was going to fall for James Potter.